


Where the people are many and their hands are all empty

by JustRosey



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Ada isn't born yet in the beginning, Kid Fic, Multi, Peaky Blinders as kids, Polly needs help with those kids my god, Random episodes from the Shelby boys' childhood, Tommy is just a fookin' weird dreamer, no idea yet if the chapters will have a red thread or not, tiny Tommy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-24 14:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19725733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustRosey/pseuds/JustRosey
Summary: Birmingham, Small Heath, Watery LaneInsert too many kids a young Polly Shelby's responsible for while her sister-in-law is sick in bed most of the time and her brother’s wasting however little money the family has.Tommy has big dreams, bigger eyes, and a talent for getting himself into trouble.Arthur tries being the man of the house but usually ends up crying his eyes out and boxing a tree trunk.John is still a useless baby, who has no idea of the world and won't stop infecting the whole family with his laughter.





	1. Chapter 1

[1896]

“Keep on bloody walking, Thomas.”

It wasn’t the easiest thing to keep up with Polly’s swift strut down this beyond filthy lane that he’d never been in before and therefore wanted nothing more than examine every single brick and pebble. Craning his neck to catch another glimpse of the thin, dirty horse in its improvised stable, Tommy stumbled over his own bare feet.  
But Polly had his left hand in an iron grip and thus he was kept upright.

“For God’s sake, Tommy, watch where you’re going and hurry up.”  
She grabbed his face with her free hand and directed his eyes towards the direction they were headed. “And don’t you dare come back here alone. You hear me?”

Tommy nodded, knowing exactly that he would come back to see how that horse was doing as soon as he could sneak out of the house next time.  
Polly sighed, knowing just how reliable Tommy’s promises were. She had taken him to the doctor, since his mother was worried he had suffered some broken ribs when his father had thrown him across the room the previous night in one of his drunk escapades and Tommy had crashed into the edge of the kitchen table. Polly had been able to tell that the boy was fine; just some nasty bruises on his fair skin, but her sister-in-law wouldn’t calm down until he was checked by a doctor.  
Ever since Tommy had been born too early and had almost died, the smallest nick or cut on him made his mother go mad with worry. And, bloody hell, Tommy wasn’t helping at all, falling down stairs because he had his eyes somewhere and climbing any roof or tree he could find. Additionally, his mother let him get away with everything. His father seemed to have picked him as his victim of choice though. Polly swore herself, should she ever have children of her own, she would never pick favourites.  
She picked up speed when they passed a brothel, shivering uncomfortably when she caught sight of two much too young boys dressed up as girls, luring customers into the downstairs etablissement. Suddenly she felt her six year-old nephew’s hand slipping from her grasp.

“Tommy!”

But Tommy had spotted a black kitten on the other side of the street and had promptly decided he wanted that kitten.

“Thomas! Come back here right now!”

All she could hear was something like “kitty” and “new pet”, and within the blink of an eye Tommy’s black shock of hair disappeared behind a building. Polly suppressed the urge to yell a curse after him; it was getting dark already, and just like a six year old boy, a seventeen year old girl shouldn’t be walking these streets alone.

Mumbling quiet curses under her breath to make herself feel less alone, Polly walked towards where Tommy had disappeared.

-

“Gonna name you Filthy Boy,” Tommy whispered to the black kitten he had actually managed to catch. “Never seen such a dirty cat, ye know. I’ll make me aunt give you a bath.”  
He got up with the kitten cradled safely in his arms, wanting to head back to where he had taken off. He knew Polly would be mad at him, but his new friend had definitely been worth it. Just when he wanted to step out into the alleyway again, a tall man in a suit with greasy, long hair stepped into his way.

“A tad bit late for such a young boy to be outside on his own,” he said, exhaling smoke before taking another, deep drag from his cigarette. “Watch’er doing out here, son?”

“Me cat ran away,” Tommy stated matter of factly, as if he hadn’t just decided that that cat was his, upon seeing it for the first time. “I better get going now, Sir.”

“Where’re yer going so quickly now? Have ye got a place to sleep tonight, boy?” the man asked him.  
Tommy had caught his eye when he had ran past him mere minutes earlier. Slender build, delicate facial features, full lips, and those huge, blue eyes; the man’s trained eye had spotted his potential immediately.

“I’ve got to go now, Sir,” Tommy said, beginning to suspect that the stranger might have bad intentions. “My aunt’s waiting for me.”  
He tried squeezing past the stranger, but the man grabbed him by the shoulder, and Tommy almost let go of his kitten. Almost.  
“Well, if ye ever want to earn some money, son, you know where to find me-”

In that moment Polly turned the corner, spotted Tommy, and ran towards him, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the man and towards her. “We need to leave now,” she hissed, throwing a side-glance at the tall stranger, not feeling brave enough to address him directly.

“Offer counts for ya both! I’m always in need of pretty girls!” the man called after them with a laugh.

Polly silently dragged Tommy all the way home to Watery Lane, only able to finally relax when they stepped inside the house. Tommy right away carried his kitten to the kitchen to give him a scrub himself, since he figured it’d be a bad idea to ask Polly to do it. He was surprised enough he’d got away without a slap so far.  
“Your mother will hear about this,” was all Polly said before she went upstairs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to do some time-jumps for the sake of having the more mature Polly x Tommy (more like Polly VS. Tommy) relationship in it too...  
> Also! Underage-Smoking yikes...

[1919]

Polly stood in the door frame for a while.  
Watched him.  
Trying to remember the moment he slipped from their fingers.  
Where exactly had they lost him on the way here?  
When was the last time she’d thought “Oh Tommy, how can you be the smartest and fiercest of them all already, and yet I know you cry yourself to sleep”?  
Sometimes, she’d sit beside him on his bed, silently letting him know it was alright he wasn’t a man just yet, and that he could still cry.  
He’d taken his mother’s death badly all those years ago.  
Maybe that’s when it had happened?  
Maybe he’d needed more than he’d received back then; support-wise.  
And after that, the war did away with what was left of him by the time.  
The empty bottle of whiskey on his desk was hit by the first rays of morning sun, and Polly sighed, crossing the room to where Tommy was sprawled out in his chair, eyes closed, forehead damp, breath reeking of alcohol.  
Was it possible to undo a person’s core completely?  
God knew when the boy with the sky-blue eyes averted his gaze from the prospect of the bluer heavens and decided to instead look for salvation in the depths of a dark, dangerous ocean.  
The whiskey was becoming a problem.  
He’d drank before the war, but he hadn’t depended on it, not ran on it like a car on petrol.

“Tommy.”  
To change the world he’d always wanted.  
“Bloody hell, Thomas, wake up.”  
She had always seen him as special. But she wasn’t sure if she still loved him for who he was these days. Still smart, still thinking everything through thoroughly, still only speaking when he knew exactly what to say, but something in his eyes was missing. This glint of sheer life. Dead.  
She shook him, making him stirr uneasily, dark-lashed eyelids fluttering.  
“Get your ass back home and freshen up. The men will show up for work soon and you are in a state they shouldn’t necessarily witness you in,” Polly spoke quietly, literally seeing the headache written across his face. “Go on, Tommy.”  
He complied wordlessly, slightly slurred steps taking him to the coat hanger first, and after putting on his coat, he was out without another word.  
He used to talk to her too.  
Not because he wanted to let her know, or make her feel better, but because he needed it.  
Said his head felt like bursting if he didn’t; with all his bloody overthinking.  
Nowadays he drowned those thoughts in whiskey so they wouldn’t haunt anyone else.  
Thoughts must’ve gotten darker.

-

The stark, cool light of the morning sun stung in Tommy’s eyes, and he pulled his hat deeper into his forehead.  
Barely five steps out of the door, he felt a blow of nausea, his bowels clenching, and a second later, he was leaning against the nearest wall, vomiting up clear liquid, drenching the dirty street. Watering Small Heath with its own, purest spirit.  
When he reached the door, he realized he had left his cigarettes at the office and mumbled a quiet “Fuck” before turning the key in the lock.  
He went to the kitchen, downing three glasses of water for a change, and when that didn’t help, he splashed some of it into his face too, before grabbing his toothbrush.  
He undressed himself, momentarily considering just putting on some fresh clothes, but finally he decided he wanted to feel nice all the way. If that was possible after a night of decidedly too much whiskey.  
By the time he had filled the tub, he had forgotten about the whereabouts of his cigarettes again and was looking for them, before remembering and cursing himself for his stupidity.

The water helped.  
Washed some of it off of him. Made the blur in his head abate, smoothed out the surfaces again.

[1896]

After a short knock on the wooden door leading to the room underneath the roof, Polly opened said door without waiting for an answer. Usually her sister-in-law, Anne, was asleep these days.  
The figure on the bed stirred when Polly set a foot on the creaking floor panel right behind the door.  
“Is that you, Polly?” Anne asked, shifting some more and finally making a move to sit up. She was pregnant again, even though little John was barely one and had been her most difficult birth yet.  
“It’s me, yes,” Polly whispered, carefully sitting down on the edge of the bed.  
“How is Thomas? What did the doctor say?” Anne continued to ask immediately, feeling nauseous at the memory of her second son’s bruised chest. She was glad she hadn’t seen how it had happened. Polly had told her, but Anne couldn’t muster up the strength to address her husband about the frequent, drunk “accidents”. Truth be told, when he was drunk, he would hurt her just as well as the boys.  
“He is alright, Anne,” Polly calmed her. “It’s just bruises.”  
“Thank god.”

“.. I was wondering if you needed anything?” Polly continued after a moment of silence.  
“Is that the only reason you came upstairs, Polly?” Anne chuckled weakly, knowing the girl for a long enough period of time now to know there was something she wasn’t telling her. And Polly usually just needed a sign to go ahead and spit it out.

“Tommy ran off again. It was getting dark already and we were passing through Varna Road,” Polly stated, and Anne’s eyes grew wide. “When I found him there was a man talking to him. I think he was a brothel owner - we passed some place where there were boy whores standing outside.”  
“Polly, I don’t want you to use that road again, dear. Neither with the boys, nor on your own. It’s too dangerous there these days,” Jane sighed, and squeezed Polly’s hand for a moment. “Thank you,” she added. “Thank you for everything you do for me, for us. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Tommy, who had been standing behind the door to his mother’s bedchamber just long enough, decided he’d heard enough now that the conversation shifted to Polly cursing her brother and his mother defending him.  
He tiptoed back to Arthur, John and his room, his freshly scrubbed, black kitten in his arms. When he entered their bedroom, Arthur was sitting on his bed, throwing a ball he had stolen from another boy at school against the wall repeatedly. He looked far away in thought, and Tommy intruded his day-dreaming by catching the ball mid-way the next time Arthur threw it.

“Fuck off, Tom, and give me ball back!” Arthur yelled, but he was quickly distracted by the black, little ball of fur which was now playing with his ball. “What’s this?”  
“A cat, Arthur. My cat,” Tommy filled him in, using his ever aloof, lecturing voice you wouldn’t believe a six year-old could possess.  
“Yeah, dad will not allow you to keep it anyways,” Arthur scoffed but reached down, petting the tiny kitten.

“Arthur, what’s a boy whore?”  
They had been playing with the kitten and Arthur’s ball on the floor for a while, and Tommy’s question seemingly came out of nowhere.  
“Where’d ye pick up that word?” Arthur spluttered, surprised.  
“Doesn’t matter,” Tommy replied and got up.

-

The next day, after school had finished… Well, after Tommy had decided it had finished for him, since he really wasn’t in need of PE because he got enough exercise from running around all day. He wasn’t one for team sports either and even if it meant leaving Freddie alone, he had better things to do today.  
His steps carried him back to Varna Road, where he and Polly had seen those boys last night. Tommy had seen them, even though Polly had half-ran past them, and he had been distracted by the kitten only a moment later. As a matter of fact, Tommy had seen those boys before on his long explorations in parts of Birmingham he had been told not to set foot in. But honestly, how much worse than Small Heath could any of those places be?

When he reached the place, he didn’t see any boys, just the staircase leading into the brothel and the old, shabby woman’s boot hanging from the bannister to mark it as such.  
He was slightly disappointed actually.  
He had hoped to talk to one of those boys. Tommy knew what a whore was, but he couldn’t quite figure out why those other boys dressed up as girls and were called ‘boy whores’.  
He kicked at a discarded, empty bottle of whiskey a few times, before deciding to check up on the horse farther down the road.

When Tommy heard the church bell chime four, he left his spot on the wall beside the horse’s shelter and headed home. He passed the brothel, and this time, a boy, most likely just two or three years older than Tommy himself, sat outside. He wasn’t wearing a dress but trousers and a shirt full of holes. His cheeks though were still stained with pinkish powder, and he hadn’t wiped off the red lipstick properly.  
Tommy’s legs carried him towards the boy, who was lighting a cigarette now, without really knowing what he was going to say.

“What do you want here, tinker?” the boy said in a mature way, exhaling smoke a little clumsily. “Go home.”  
“Can I get one?” Tommy asked.  
“A cigarette?” the boy replied, but already handed who he thought was just interested in that, one from the shabby pack.

“Here,” he added, lighting a match for Tommy and holding it out for him. “Well, tinker, you do have to take a drag or the cigarette won’t get lit.”  
Tommy looked at him for a moment, never having smoked a cigarette before, and tried to remember how Polly did it when she snuck out to have a smoke.  
After two more tries, his own one was lit as well and he puffed on the cigarette a few times, before trying a deep drag like the boy beside him.  
It ended up in a coughing fit on Tommy’s side, and morphed into laughter on both sides, after he had been able to catch his breath.  
“Never smoked a fag before, have ye?” the boy grinned and boxed Tommy in the shoulder.  
“No,” Tommy admitted.  
“Aye, you’ll get used to the burning sensation,” the boy replied. “I’m Peter, by the way.”  
“Tommy.”  
They shook hands and Tommy noticed how Peter’s cigarette had the faintest, reddish imprint of his lips on it.  
“So, what is it that you… do here?” he asked, finally seeing a chance to direct the conversation to the topic he wanted to know more about.  
“Why would you want to know?” Peter snorted and broke the eye contact. “You that desperate? I saw ya, with the pretty young lady yesterday. You have a home to go back to. You’re wrong here, Tommy, this isn’t a place for boys like you.”  
“What are you doing here then?”  
“I have no choice. It’s either steal or starve on the streets or work here and have some money of me own and a place to sleep. Can’t do this forever anyways… I’ll be too old in a few years.”

He told Tommy what this was all about; the girl’s clothes, the customers, what he did with them, or rather what they did with him. Tommy’s face didn’t show a sign of emotion on the outside, but inside he felt empathy and anger and frustration for Peter’s miserable situation, and he had an idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m still trying to get the hang of writing those character but hopefully they don’t feel completely off?
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, there! Thank for reading!  
> :D  
> This is my first pic for the Peaky Blinders fandom and it'd mean A WHOLE LOT to me if you told me what you think!
> 
> (Also! If you're into fan art check my Tumblr - https://andtherewerefireworks.tumblr.com )


End file.
